


There, Right There

by prouvairablehulk



Series: The Queer Walrus Variations [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, This is not even remotely historically accurate, everyone on the Walrus is Not Straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: “Any candidates?” he asks.“About four.” says Billy. “Maybe five.”“I only counted three.” says Flint, a frown creasing his forehead.“Number four is a little fixated on your ass for you to have noticed.” says Gates.





	There, Right There

There is an endless dance undertaken by the crew of the Walrus after the taking of a prize - carrying cargo, checking for stragglers, securing the ship…

Recruiting new members. 

Billy looks down at the crew of the merchant ship they’ve taken, and then over at Gates, who is standing to his left, just behind his shoulder. 

“I think the one in the middle of the third row.” he says. Gates nods, thoughtful. 

“There’s one in the front row I think might be sympathetic.” says Gates. 

The two of them consider their options in silence for a moment.

“You should take your shirt off.” says Muldoon, passing while carrying what looks to be a crate of silk. “That will solve it.”

“But would I be taking it off for them, or for you?” Billy asks.

“You’re a gift to everyone, Bones.” says Muldoon, now mostly over his shoulder as he passes towards the rails. “Think of what it would do for morale!” 

Billy flips him off and glares at Gates, who is doing a terrible job concealing his laughter. 

“The one on the left in the second row has checked out the Captain’s ass about three times.” says Logan, passing in the opposite direction. “I think he’s a solid choice.”

Both Billy and Gates turn to look at the man Logan’s talking about, who is in fact staring at Flint’s ass for a fourth time. 

“Definitely him, then.” says Billy. 

“Christ God.” says Gates. “The Captain would eat him alive.” He’s smiling as he says it. 

“We’ll have to warn him off after he comes aboard.” says Billy, and then Gates shoots him another look. “Or we could fucking sacrifice the poor man to your campaign to get the Captain laid.”

“I'm not sure he's the Captain’s type.” says Gates. “But that doesn't mean it's not worth a go.” 

Billy shakes his head, and Flint swaggers over to join them in their surveillance. 

“Any candidates?” he asks. 

“About four.” says Billy. “Maybe five.”

“I only counted three.” says Flint, a frown creasing his forehead. 

“Number four is a little fixated on your ass for you to have noticed.” says Gates, and Flint rolls his eyes. 

“Not him, then.” 

“He's a rigger and we need one.” Gates retorts. “And we’ll tell him you're off the market.”

“Final check before we talk to them, then?” asks Flint. 

Gates nods, and then they both turn to look expectantly at Billy. 

Billy heaves out a sigh and reaches for the hem of his shirt. 

Someone from the Walrus whistles, and there's a sudden rush of lewd comments. 

“Take it off, Bones!” yells Logan, from across the deck, louder than the others. 

Billy does. Somebody yells. Muldoon pretends to faint. Dooley starts counting his abs obnoxiously loudly. Flint’s lips might not have moved, but his eyes are laughing. Gates isn’t even bothering to pretend, leaning against the rail as he shakes with the force of his laughter.

Fuck this crew, honestly. 

“Seven.” says Flint, with a certain gravitas that comes from trying not to laugh and nothing else on God’s good green earth. “There’s seven.”

“Fuck you.” says Billy, jovial. 

“You don’t go for that sort of thing.” Flint fires back. Sometimes, Billy misses the days when Flint didn’t trust him enough to be himself. At least then he didn’t have to know the man had a fucking sense of humor. Gates is wheezing to himself.

Billy walks away, because that means he doesn’t have to be part of the conversation anymore. 

“Thank you, Mister Bones!” Flint calls, to Billy’s retreating back.

“Of course, Captain!” says Billy, dragging the words out to be as sarcastically simpering as he can make them. Flint winks. It’s obnoxious, how attractive it is. 

Billy turns his attention away from the Captain and on to the prize crew. 

“Battle’s over.” he tells them, face serious. “And we won. That means you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re not going to kill you or harm you for the sake of it.”

The men in front of him seem to take a collective breath out. Billy can hear Muldoon muttering something that’s probably a come-on under his breath, and grits his teeth. 

“We know this life is hard, and you get little from it. I know better than most - I was pressed into service, before I sailed with Captain Flint.” 

The men on the deck are starting to seem more interested than scared, which is always a good sign. They might actually get some recruits out of this - but only if they meet the other criteria the Walrus has when it comes to signing up. 

“On the Walrus,” Billy continues, “and indeed, on any ship that sails on the account, you will never have to worry about slaving away for shit wages. You will never have to follow the orders of a man you do not wish to follow. You would have a say in all that happens, and a share in every prize won.”

There’s a gleam starting to appear in some of the men’s eyes, just as there always is at this point in the speech. And, as always, here is the point at which Billy will dull some of that light. 

“The Walrus is, however, somewhat selective with regard to who comes aboard.” says Billy. “There are - certain requirements that must be met.” 

“Do we need to fight, then?” asks one of the men. 

“Wrestle, maybe!” calls Muldoon. Billy spins to tell him to shut up, only to find that he’s leaning on the railing overhead, sandwiched between Dooley and Logan. The Captain has braced his forearms on the wood, leaning over the edge, for all the world like a delighted schoolboy, with De Groot a caricature of a stern professor next to him, and Gates all red-cheeked and beaming on the far side of De Groot. 

“You don’t need to fight.” says Billy, turning back around. “And there will be no more pain for you today.”

“There might be some minimal pain, depending.” says Dooley. “But I’m sure it will feel good before long.” 

Billy sinks his nails into his palms, and starts mentally calculating how many more prizes they will need before he can retire. He has no intention of doing so, but the math means he’s less likely to yell at Logan. They’re trying for subtle, here. 

“So what is it we need to do?” 

Billy’s questioner is the man in the second row who had been so admiring of the captain’s ass. Billy just stares at the man for a few moments, before he swallows, and speaks. 

“It’s less something you have to do, and more something you have to be.” says Billy, trying to convey what he means through eye contact alone. He’s not sure if it works. 

“Put the poor men out of their misery, Billy.” says the Captain. “Tell them.” 

“Well, you see -” Billy starts, meaning to approach the conversation with tact. 

“We’ll only take you if you fuck men.” calls Logan. Billy turns back around to face the group on the railing, and shades his eyes so he can see them all as clearly as possible. 

“What the fuck, Logan?” he asks. “I thought we were trying subtle this time. Captain, you said we should try subtle!”

“If we’d tried subtle for much longer, the Navy would be upon us.” says Flint. “Also, you’ve turned a quite alarming shade of red.” 

“Hold on,” says one of the crew members tied up behind Billy, “Captain Flint, Scourge of the Bahamas, is a fucking sodomite?” 

Flint grins, a nice, shameless, devil grin, the kind he wears when a prize is within reach, when he has a sword in his hand and is out for blood, when he’s watching a plan come to fruition. 

“Yes.” Flint says. “And so is every member of this crew. Who just took your ship.” 

The crew of the Walrus has stopped to watch the exchange, mostly, if you asked Billy, because the entire fucking crew got off on watching Flint when he was like this. 

“There’s no way -” 

“It’s almost like who I choose to fuck has no bearing on how thoroughly I can kick your ass with a sword in my hand.” says Flint. “Who would have guessed?”

“Certainly not the British Navy.” says Gates, and for a moment something heavy and dark crosses Flint’s face. 

“Certainly not the fucking British Navy.” Flint agrees. 

There’s a beat in which no one says anything, all still hanging on the possibility the Captain might speak again, and then someone clears their throat. 

“I’ll join.” says the man from the second row with the fixation on Flint’s ass. He looks exceedingly earnest, and he seems unbothered by the incredulous and judgemental stares of his former crew members. He flicks his eyes sideways, up to the Captain, through his lashes, and then back down again, and then he licks his lips.

Billy fights the urge to bang his forehead against the mainmast and instead makes himself smile. 

“Welcome to the Walrus, then, brother.” he says, and cuts the man free.


End file.
